November 2, 2008
by Phx
Summary: The official day of Winchester mourning.


**Happy Birthday, TraSan! **

**This kinda just happened this morning. I didn't have any intention of writing anything and then this just came to mind. So, I'm warning yah - it's unbeta'd :P oh, and it's more a drabble, I think...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them but feel horrible for them. And especially Sam today. So this is dedicated to Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.**

**November 2, 2008**

_6:00 AM, November 2, 2008_

Sam woke early. He lay quiet in his bed and tried not to think. He knew exactly what day this was, even if that bastard Uriel hadn't tormented him about it. Today was the Winchester day of mourning.

Shifting slightly to watch Dean sleeping in the bed next to his, Sam felt a stab of sorrow. They hadn't said much since Halloween and he hated the silence that hung like a damned sentence between them. He'd been expecting Dean to lay into him as soon as Samhaim was vanquished but his brother didn't. Instead Dean had just offered his shoulder when Sam stumbled and got them both the hell out of there.

Sam didn't remember much of the ride back to the motel, his head pounding bad enough it blurred his vision, but he did remember hands that could kill being so gentle as they helped him stumble into the room and controlled his drop onto a bed, a bit surprised that Dean still had him take the one furthest from the door. As if Sam was the one that needed to be protected.

But then not much after that. Blinding morning light had found Sam alone with a note. _Gone for breakfast. Pack up._ And that is what Sam had been doing when he was 'touched' by an angel. Figured he'd get the one that hated him.

Oh God, an _angel_ hated him. Threatened him. An angel. And he'd called the divine being a _dick_?

A shudder stuttered his breath and Sam turned away from Dean, his heart aching as he thought about everything good that he'd tried to be. Did it matter? Did anything matter?

Wiping angrily at a traitorous tear, Sam huffed bitterly. This not thinking thing wasn't working too well for him.

Hearing Dean shift under the covers, Sam quietly sat up, the air in the room suddenly to thick to breath. He needed to get out.

Quickly dressing, Sam fought an overwhelming need to escape as he looked for paper to write a note. His hands shook as he scrawled _'Back soon'_ and then practically threw himself out the door. He had no idea where he was going but today was November 2 and he needed to get out.

Memories of Jessica matched each step and he swallowed them back wondering if it made him more a monster that he didn't want to remember anymore. She didn't deserve to die. In all this, she was the one true innocent, damned the moment she opened her heart to the devil himself.

Sam snorted and picked up the pace. That was what he was, right? Evil, profound, tainted, doomed. Even his own brother was afraid of him. Afraid of what he'd become.

He started to run. If everyone expected him to fail, how was he supposed to succeed?

The town blurred as his long legs stretched out to eat up the distance. His lungs burned and he relished the pain. Feeling was good. Feeling kept him human.

_If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you._

Sam was gulping air now but still he ran, pouring every ounce of pain, despair, fear and anger into each stride. His heart pounded, his head ached but still he pushed.

_God doesn't want you to do this!_

Tears mingled with sweat. Grief with exhaustion. He was so tired. So damn tired…. So he just –

Stopped.

Around him the world was quiet and dark. He heard nothing but his own sucking breathes as his chest heaved in air.

This was so unfair. So fucking unfair. All he wanted was a normal life. A safe, apple-pie, white picket fence life. He _wanted_ to pay taxes and be bothered by telemarketers… But that would never happen. All his hopes and dreams had gone up in smoke. Burned on the ceiling along with Jessica.

And today was November 2nd. Again.

Hanging his head, Sam's body quivered as stood in the middle of the empty street, alone and overwhelmed. The weight of living bowed his proud shoulders and threatened to shove him down straight into the darkest bowels of hell. The muscles in his legs trembled as he choked back a scream, afraid of losing hold of the tight reigns he held on his sanity… and then he heard something.

A low rumble, getting louder with each moment.

Slowly Sam turned and lifted his head as the gleaming black car growled towards him. Dean had found him.

The car stopped next to him. Dean didn't roll down the window or say anything, he just waited. Sam hesitated a moment and then opened the passenger side door. Wordlessly he slid across the seat and then closed the door unable to look at his brother, afraid of what he might see. But, Dean had come after him… that meant something, right?

Dean sighed but didn't start to drive right away and after a long moment Sam looked at him. His brother was staring straight out the window, his face pale, his cheeks suspiciously shiny.

Sam figured his brother was thinking about their mother. His grief freshened as he'd gotten to know her a bit better thanks to his little time trip so when Dean snorted softly, cast him a sidelong glance and whispered, "Sorry, Sammy." Sam was confused.

"Dean?"

"I don't know how to fix this," his brother admitted sheepishly. "I want to, oh God, I want to but I don't know how.

Panic flared fresh as Sam had no idea where Dean was going with this.

"But," something hardened in his voice, conviction, maybe, as Dean continued, "_We_ will figure this out." He caught Sam's eyes, "Together, okay? Brothers…"

Something settled inside Sam. Some ruffled feather, smoothed, and he nodded not trusting his voice right now. Together. _Brothers._

A smile loosened the tension in Dean's face. He reached across and slapped Sam's leg lightly, "Offer still stands, dude. Las Vegas? Craps tables?"

For a second Sam was confused and then he remembered Max Miller, a million years ago. He remembered something else Dean had said that day too. _As long as I'm around nothing bad is going to happen to you…_

And Sam smiled, slow and tentative at first but then with a genuineness that surprised even him. It might be November 2nd but he wasn't alone. He still had Dean. He'd never be alone.

"I dunno," he finally offered back, "are you sure you should be gambling on Sunday?"

The End


End file.
